


Do You Need Me?

by Il-Papa-Patata (Emby_M)



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Baby Terzo, Brotherly Affection, Brothers with a Big Age Gap, Cuddling, F/M, Ghost is Ghosts AU, Long-Term Relationship(s), Pretend Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27870382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emby_M/pseuds/Il-Papa-Patata
Summary: It was the busy season, that's all. And he's glad for the work. But he would really prefer if it didn't take until midnight – he's a workhorse, but this was pushing it. Even his father had commented, lean and resplendent in his new retirement, that it seemed like too much.But the worst of it was not seeing Nysie. Her whole days were filled – countless appointments with legions of demons – and it wasn't as though he really wanted to interrupt. And his new brother – Francesco; he hasn't seen Francesco since he was born, it feels like.-Secondo tries to rest after a long day, but can only think of his lover and his new baby brother.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus II & Papa Emeritus III, Papa Emeritus II/Original Character(s), Papa Emeritus II/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Do You Need Me?

He stands from his desk, setting his hands on his lower back and stretching with a great groan. It must be around midnight – the candles are nearly burnt out, but the work is done, and that was all that mattered.

He snuffs the candles, shuts away his work inside his desk drawers, takes along his teacup to rinse for tomorrow.

It was the busy season, that's all. And he's glad for the work. But he would really prefer if it didn't take until midnight – he's a workhorse, but this was pushing it. Even his father had commented, lean and resplendent in his new retirement, that it seemed like too much.

But the worst of it was not seeing Nysie. Her whole days were filled – countless appointments with legions of demons – and it wasn't as though he really wanted to interrupt. And his new brother – Francesco; he hasn't seen Francesco since he was born, it feels like.

He could go down to the nursery and stroke his baby brother's hair, sing a soft song- but no, it could wait. He could go down to Nysie's room, find some comfort, some relief in her skin.

But no, he tells himself, you need to rest.

So he passes the nursery. Passes the House of Lust, its never-quiet halls.

He finds his apartment even in the dark. He would know it by heart, the room he's inhabited since he was a babe himself, nearly ninety years.

He sighs.

When it eases up, he would take Nysie out on a vacation. Tuscany. Perhaps even the ancestral estate, down in Sicily. He would take Francesco along, play at parenthood with Nysie, show her a little bit of what she'd always wanted but that he could never give.

It's just right now the work seems endless and without relief.

He sighs again, grumbling. He'd have to make time to talk to Judith and get some sort of spar in, work off this tension, this creeping fury. Maybe if she hit him enough it would feel better.

He opens the door, stepping into the small hallway. They are not immodestly sized rooms – nothing like his grandfather's extensive apartments: Nihil had a fondness for _m_ _ore_ in all its forms – but there's enough space for someone of his breadth and height.

He sets his teacup in the kitchen, pulling off his cassock, his waistcoat, undoing the throat of his shirt and rucking up his sleeves. When his arms are exposed, he flexes his hands into fists, watching the firm muscles shift beneath his skin. The tension would leave or be worked off. He knows that Petra would reprimand him later what with her slow and gentle dedication to Sloth. “Rest is _rest-_ orative,” she would say.

He washes his face in the kitchen sink, uncaring if he removed all of his paint, just that it was off. The scratch of his bristly hair annoys him as he scrubs black out – he'd have to shave it in the morning, and even that was too much to ask from him, schedule as packed as it is. The idea just irritates him more. He's about to go out into the courtyard and start throwing things.

But it was not a particular good use of Wrath. Even Asmodeus, who tended to be a bit rasher than him, would call it unnecessary. He dries his face on the kitchen towel – groans at the smear of gray he leaves behind – another annoyance. Would he really lay in bed tonight consumed with this? Would this just be life for the next couple weeks?

He scrubs harder. It's already ruined. At least let him not ruin his bedlinen.

He strips completely. He could sleep in his shirt but something about the touch of linen would infuriate him tonight. He's not even sure he wants his bedsheets, or his blankets, or his pillows.

What he really wants is Nysie. Nysie calmed him. She would touch him and this irritation would disappear, she would ask softly if he'd help her please herself, he would lose himself in that. Lose himself at the gentle fingertips against his scalp, the sweet kisses she'd press to his lips and cheeks, all the ways she could touch him without it turning to curdling fear.

But she's just as busy as him. None the least with acting as nursemaid for Francesco – Checco's other father, the one who birthed him, apparently had declined to be the one to feed him. Unlike Domenico, his own father. So it was convenient to have her make a small pact with a currently-nursing demon, being part of the family already and always nearby. She was happy to do it – she had always wanted to be a mother – and it had even made her more popular with the bands of demons that came through her bedroom.

Although she'd always been popular with them. He understands why; if he was how other men were, if he could look at her, at anyone, with lust, he would be lost in her completely. She was just – what a visiting Catholic once described as “unlasciviously sensual”. So sweet-natured and warm-hearted that sex became an almost pure thing with her, with how enraptured she seemed, how every partner was given her full attention and love for that particular romp.

He's told her over and over that she doesn't have to stick with him. That if she wanted to have a child or have a family with someone else, someone who didn't crumble at the idea of being touched, she should. But she would always smile and pinch at his nose and tell him she didn't want anyone else.

He's embarrassed to admit it, but seeing her with Francesco in her arms – his already-beloved baby brother with the love of his life, the light of his soul –

It was just too much.

He wanted – he tried – to give an heir to the lineage. And he tried to have the heir with Nysie. But he just-

He still thinks of the bruises he left on her wrist. She would have let go at any word but no words could come out when he felt- for the first time- blind fear when she touched him. He grabbed- pulled. And she had went, lips parting, eyes wincing in pain. He'd begged her to stop, please-

She had, of course. She was terrified she'd hurt him. She hadn't, but something had, and he didn't want to look too close at it for fear of bringing back that choking terror.

So when time came on – his father was the one to have another child.

But for moments- well, he can pretend he wasn't afraid, and that he and Nysie – beloved Nysie – had had a child, and that they were both wonderful. He can cradle his brother to his chest and coo lullabyes, spin with him until he giggles. He'd been the one to anoint his brother, to welcome him into the fold. At times it was too much. His heart would burst.

He smooths his hands over his face, sighing.

It would be a bit longer until he saw them. This work would get done. Then he would see them. Then he would see them.

He comes into his bedroom and casts the clothing aside, rubbing his face more, working out a small headache that decided to take up residence in his temples. He drifts to the bed – with its comfortable velvet curtains hung up now that it was getting cooler – and-

He startles when he puts his knee down because _someone is in the bed-_

Oh.

It's a smaller form. Curled around a tiny baby.

The tension dissipates immediately.

Nysie sleeps soundly, Francesco held close into her chest, carefully placed. Her pale hair is loose along his pillows, her face relaxed in sleep. Francesco sleeps easy, his stubby hand pressed against her arm.

The anger evaporates, boils up into steam that condensates back into a burning in his nose, just the edge of tears.

He kneels on the bed, gently shakes Nysie's shoulder.

“Mm?” she groans, twisting to face him. “Mm, hi.”

“Hi,” he murmurs, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice, “How long have you been here?”

“Mmmm, a few hours? Francesco couldn't sleep and I-” she casts her eyes down, “Missed you.”

He pulls up the covers, sliding in behind her, her back to his front. Wraps his arms around her waist. She giggles softly, stroking his forearm gently.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs behind her ear. She shivers and ducks her head, exposing a delicate nape that he bites at.

She shrugs back into him, nuzzling up against him. He dutifully kisses that exposed neck, the lean shoulders.

“I thought you'd work all night,” she murmurs.

“If they made me work all night,” he growls, nipping her earlobe, hands wandering to her belly, “I might just defenestrate someone.”

She giggles again, nuzzling into the pillows as he strokes her belly, her thigh – lifts the hem of her nightshift.

“Do you need me?” he murmurs.

She sighs a pleased note at his fingertips over the crease of her thigh. “Mm,” she sighs, “I'd like to...”

“But?”

“But I would feel bad handing off Francesco in the middle of the night just so we could have some privacy.”

“Give him to Luciano,” he snarls against her shoulder, both his hands up her nightshift, stroking her soft skin, “Man doesn't take his own child enough for my tastes.”

She giggles, fading into a moan the more he touches her, “I think Nico was an exception rather than a rule.”

“Maybe so. But even still.”

She shimmies against his hands, sighing softly. He retreats, resettling the hem of her nightshift.

“I would love for you to lay me out and have me in the middle of the night like a secret treat,” she says, gently stroking Francesco's downy hair, “But I'd just be thinking of this little one.”

“Mm,” he hums, swallowing against the aching warmth underneath his ribs.

Francesco stirs, pressing himself into Nysie's chest and nuzzling gently.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” she murmurs, shifting onto her back and pulling Checco over her, pulling her nightshift down to let him feed.

He marvels, places his hand on Nysie's stomach, props himself on his elbow.

He think to ask many things – does that feel good? Does Francesco eat often? Is she tired? – but he says nothing, instead just watching the muscles of his baby brother's jaw move, watching the gentle smile that passes onto his love's face.

“Berto,” Nysie says, after a moment, “Umberto.”

“Mm?”

“You're staring.”

“Oh.” He leans close, nestling his chin against her shoulder, watching his brother eat. “Sorry. Just curious.”

Her hand comes to his head, brushing her thumb against the brief swath of hair, stroking evenly.

“You can drink too,” she giggles, “If you're so interested.”

His face fills with heat. “No, that's-”

She giggles again, kissing his forehead. “Blushy Bertino,” she sing-songs.

He scowls up at her, but the grin doesn't fade.

He swallows.

Shakes his head, softly.

“Another time. When I can enjoy it.”

Her eyebrows raise, but a smile melts onto her face. “Hm,” she hums, sidling up along him, tucking herself against him. “Once work slows down?”

“I was thinking of a vacation,” he murmurs, rubbing out the heat of his cheeks into her shoulder, “Visit the ancestral seat.”

“I'd like that,” she murmurs, the two of them watching Francesco eat.

“You never came with us when we were younger, did you?”

She shakes her head, yawning.

“It's nice,” he mumbles, catching her yawn. It's been a long day already, and tomorrow would only bring more. But there was this promise now – this promise of their holiday, of just him and her and perhaps Francesco, time to relax.

They'd sleep in. They'd have a lazy, late breakfast every day. They'd walk the gardens of the estate, visit the local town, take a nap if they got sleepy, stay up late into the night, talking like they were children again. She would run ahead of him in the road and turn back, smiling her broad smile, unchanged by time and death, and hold her arms out for him to pick her up and spin her.

He would be with her for a little while.

He drags his hand up to her waist, quietly humming against her skin, her familiar skin.

Funny how just that made all this bearable.

His eyes slip closed, his whole body sagging into the soft warmth of her.

Tomorrow the world would start anew. But for tonight, he's comfortable beside her.

It's all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is fairly headcanon heavy -- if you have questions, I would be happy to answer. I hope it can still be understood for the most part tho...  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


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